


Krycek Interlude 6

by WPAdmirer



Series: Chicago Stories II [18]
Category: E.R., X-Files - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WPAdmirer/pseuds/WPAdmirer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krycek really has to hurt someone cause he's SO pissed at Walter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Krycek Interlude 6

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I got tired of waiting for some good John Carter slash, and there's never enough Skinner fic to suit me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: It's not the author's intention to infringe upon or profit from the characters created and owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions or the Fox Network, nor Warner Brothers and NBC. Skinner and Carter were borrowed temporarily and returned almost immediately.
> 
> SPECIAL NOTES: I've received so many wonderful e-mails from people who've read the stories and enjoyed them. I was suffering a sort of writer's block for a while, but all the feedback helped me get back to the stories. Thank you to everyone who's been so generous to write me. I just today found out that The Chicago Stories 1 and 2 won the Wirerims award for best crossover fiction. I want to thank everyone who took the time to vote for the stories, and a special thanks to my wonderful betas, Crysothemis and KiMeriKal. I couldn't do it without my betas, nor would I want to without all the wonderful readers who've taken John and Walter into their hearts. Thanks.

Krycek sat in a car in the parking lot of Arlington Hospital and waited. He'd identified the car belonging to the surgical resident who'd sent Dale Edson a copy of John Carter's chart. It was a black BMW. From what Krycek had been able to find out about the man, he rivaled Carter in coming from a family of wealth. Only his daddy, and his daddy's daddy had all been surgeons. Very expensive, private practice thoracic surgeons.

Thus the black BMW. Krycek leaned back in the driver's seat and smiled. What's the difference between a porcupine and a BMW? A porcupine has the pricks on the outside. An old joke, but one that never failed to amuse him.

Oh, this was going to be a pleasure. It really, really was.

After the fake phone sex telephone call between Carter and Skinner, Krycek really needed to kill someone. This would be cathartic. He needed the release, and he could fantasize as he shot this rich prick that he was really putting a bullet into the head of Skinner's fuck-toy. One rich prick was almost as good as another.

Besides which, it would tie up the last loose end. Well, not the last. There was still the matter of the medical record which contained the doctor's notes. But that could wait, and it wouldn't be hard. Stealing records from a hospital was never hard. He'd done it before.

Several people came out of the parking garage elevator and headed for their cars. One dark-haired man headed for the BMW.

Krycek smiled and sat up.

The man got into the car and tried to start it. The only thing that could be heard was the clicking of the starter. Disconnected battery cables would do that to a car. As expected, the doctor stayed in the car, turning the key over and over, listening to the clicking as though he expected it to change. Krycek had bet the farm on the guy doing just that. Rich boys never knew dick about cars. Now the question would be whether he would just use his cell phone to call for help, or would he get out of the car and lift the hood.

Being as he was a surgeon, Krycek figured cell phone. After all, he wouldn't want to risk those valuable hands on anything as dirty and unknown as an automobile engine.

Sure enough, there was the phone.

No one stopped to see why the young doctor wasn't leaving. The other people got into their cars and left. It wasn't unreasonable. They'd all worked long shifts, and it wasn't like the guy couldn't afford to call a tow truck.

Krycek praised the gods for sending him a rich boy instead of some sweet, poor guy that everyone would want to stop and help. He got out of his car and walked up to the driver's side of the BMW. He tapped on the window.

The man started to roll down the window, then realized that nothing electrical in the car was working. He opened the car door.

"Need some help?" Krycek asked.

"No, I don't."

God, this one was as snide as Edson. Krycek sighed. He probably would be just as stupid, too. He reached into the car, grabbed the man by the collar of his jacked and pushed the gun right under the man's ear, hard.

"Hey! What are you doing?" The man said. "Listen, there are security cameras all over this garage."

He was as stupid as Edson. "You don't think I took care of that already, you stupid prick?" Krycek was really losing his patience. Not that he'd had much to start out with.

"What do you want?"

"You got a friend named Edson who's a surgical resident in Chicago, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Wanted to be sure I had the right guy," said Krycek. He moved the gun, pointing it between the man's eyes. He watched as the man's expression turned from annoyance to terror. Oh, yeah, this was good. This was just what he needed.

"Why are you doing this? Who are you?"

"Do you play golf?"

The doctor shook his head.

"You look like you stay in shape. What do you do, run?"

"Racquet ball."

Now there was a sport that a man could play with one arm. "You got any equipment in the car?"

The doctor nodded. "Gym bag in the trunk."

"Thanks."

The shot from the silenced gun was like a loud cough. Krycek reached into the car and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He closed the car door. The tow truck driver would get one hell of a surprise when he finally showed up.

Krycek popped the trunk open. Sure enough, there was a really nice gym bag. In it were shoes, shorts, a couple of shirts, and towels, and a really nice racquet and balls.

Krycek pulled the strap of the bag over his shoulder and headed back to his car. There was a gym with racquet ball courts not far from Skinner's building. It wasn't the kind of place Skinner would go. It was shiny, new, full of women sweating in expensive leotards on Stairmasters and Lifecycles. Oh, yeah, this would be much better than golf.


End file.
